


Living Spirit

by dracoon



Category: Psychopath Diary (TV)
Genre: local murderer gains the ability to talk to the things he can't ever fully eradicate, probably?, this frustrates him but he can handle it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22255294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoon/pseuds/dracoon
Summary: Seo Inwoo is a bona fide psychopath. He knows his sanity isn't exactly all quite there.Then...he starts realising he can understand what plants are talking about. He can't kill them where it matters to shut them up. And, the worst part of them all...they'reniceto him.This irks him.
Comments: 40
Kudos: 53





	1. For a New Life...?

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based off the PMD2 OST track of the same name. 
> 
> Set in a crack AU post-canon where he's under house arrest instead of stewing in prison as he deserves. I like ragdolling this dumbass around! What can I say, really.

He hears them in his dreams again.

His mother's voice, calling to him fondly as she did when he was a child.

The chimes of bells around him, and the beats of drums growing louder around him until he finally jolts awake, drenched in cold sweat and searching feebly for her, who'd died so long ago without him. 

Today was no different as he glanced around, hackles raised and eyes adjusting to the rays of sunlight taunting him of the outside world he was now shut out of. Inwoo's hands flew to the collar around his neck when he fully regained consciousness: an extra precaution, they said, to keep him humble. It was one of the clauses his _father_ had agreed to for his house arrest, and it prevented him from ever getting angry or excited- for then he would receive a jolt of electricity so strong that it would simply knock him back out. It was better to be asleep than awake, anyway. 

His eyes shift to the plant on his bedside table, a simple succulent to keep him company from one of the kinder policemen that checked in on him and calibrated the devices he now touted. It waved, fat petals glistening against the sun's rays. 

_"Good morning!"_ wafted a cheerful, unfamiliar voice, and Inwoo's eyes instinctively searched the room to check for any microphones that might have been installed while he was asleep. Everyday was a new challenge to surmount in surveillance, the caged animal he was. He knew he'd slipped and fell in the bathroom due to his injured leg, striking his head in the process. Thankfully, he hadn't lost his memory. He didn't need to pull a Yook Dongshik while alone in this house. 

_"Over here!"_ the cry intensified, before his gaze finally fell on the only other living being in the room. 

The plant? 

Did the plant just _talk_ to him? 

"You-" he began, and he watched the succulent's petals seem to wave in the breeze. 

" _Yes, me! You hear me? That's great! You've been asleep so long, we're all starting to worry,"_ chirped the voice once more, and he blinked almost stupidly before turning the pot over just to check if this was some sort of cruel prank somewhere, " _You must be starving! Don't worry about us. You can just spritz us per normal. We'd do just fine!"_

Inwoo didn't like thinking about his psychosis analysis. He shakily reached for his phone and dialed the first number on his speed dial, eyes still wide and one hand poised on his collar just for good measure. Something, something, crossed hairs. Maybe he had just been shocked to unconsciousness and this was all just a fever dream. 

"Hi," he heard himself from the receiver, "I need a psychiatric evaluation, and quickly. Just find someone. My plants are talking to me, and I'm dead fucking certain that's not normal." 


	2. You're Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it wasn't a good idea to get all those plants in the first place.

He didn't believe the clean bill of health they gave him. It was rare that he'd sound alarm the way he had, but they insisted they'd check in on him just for good measure. Even as he was escorted to the car back to his prison, he could hear the trees and grass greet him cheerily, as though they didn't know how much he was capable of. 

As he finally set foot back into his house, he found a spot where he was certain he wouldn't hear anything before huddling there, relishing the silence for a while. It was better that way. He had enough chaos in his mind as it were. 

Then it dawned upon him how much flora he'd purchased before to decorate his place. His only justification had been that he had nothing else to do at home, and he needed _somewhere_ that wasn't the front yard to bury weapons if things were to go wrong. As it were there were a few large pots of healthy plants that grew in the living room, and as his worried gaze scanned them, the plants seemed to react in tandem. 

" _Don't stare at us like that, that's rude_." admonished the large cactus at the far end of the room, " _You know what you did. And stop burying knives in my soil. It's hard to grow over those with my roots._ " 

Inwoo cackled to himself- ok, maybe he had lost it, and now his plants were giving him a tongue lashing. He slowly uncurled himself, a snarl growing on his features as he reminded himself not to get too angry. 

"What?" he confronted, uncaring at this point. He was already crazy, so be it. "I could kill you. Just uproot you and throw you outside, you ungrateful fucking ornament." 

The cactus stayed quiet for a few moments, before it seemed to reply. 

" _You can't kill us in any way that matters, **master**_ ," it states plainly, the tone unmistakeably sarcastic, " _We're all you have now_." 

Inwoo stumbled over, overturning the pot like a slighted cat, but it did little than prick his hands on the cactus itself and numb his neck feeling the beginnings of a jolt coming on. Now he was getting sassed by plants too? He hated this.

Instead, he righted himself, hobbling to the fridge and making himself some salad. Fuck the plants. He'd eat them. That way he wouldn't need to think about them. He chewed idly for a few moments, before his eyes widened hearing a muffled voice coming from inside his mouth and extended his tongue, finding a partially-nibbled piece of cabbage on the tip of it. 

" _Chew me harder, daddy~_ " it chorused, and Inwoo immediately withdrew it into his mouth and swallowed, harder than usual.

He didn't want to ask or know. This ability was agony. He needed some way to fix it- and quickly. 


	3. Please Let Us In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a fat little succulent could do puppy dog eyes it would 
> 
> Also, first hint of familiar names!

Unable, or unwilling to face his room of plants, their choruses of anger intermingled with concern haunting his mind, Inwoo stumbled back into his bedroom and flopped into his armchair, the original snarl he had now replaced with a lost, almost troubled expression. He covered his eyes with his arm, sagging into the leather in a feeble bid to gain some comfort before he heard something speak again. 

" _You're not ok again_ ," tinkled the succulent on his bedside table, its voice echoing through the abnormally quiet room, " _Won't anyone visit? Jihoon? Dad? They should water you. Pull some weeds. Maybe change your soil?_ "

Inwoo hid a growl from his seat but didn't get up, bristling at the names suggested to him. "They were the reason why I'm stuck here, hallucinating about talking to plants," he gritted out, and he heard a wistful sigh from the far end of the room. 

" _How about the fluffy haired man in the car wash uniform?_ " it trucked on cheerily, seemingly thinking of solutions, " _He seemed nice when he brought his friend, and you seemed so happy when you were with him--_ " 

At the mention of the accursed figure Inwoo swept the items in front of him onto the ground furiously, jumping to his feet before lunging at the succulent, glaring at it while he clutched it in his hands angrily. 

"I'll shatter your fucking pot if you mention that man again," he snarled, feeling the sparking of the collar already at just the thought of the man who'd landed him in this state. The succulent seemed to shrivel slightly at his words, and he felt his misplaced rage ebb away before he sagged, placing the pot in his lap before shuddering in an attempt to hold a sob in. All this pent-up emotions and nowhere to vent it to. He was a joke. 

"The predator killer of Seoul, reduced to muttering to a succulent because he's trapped in his house," he whimpered, cupping the pot gently in his hands, "Mother should've taken me when she was able." 

He felt a pleasant scent waft through the room at his deflated words, before slowly shifting his tear-filled gaze towards the plant who was still trying to make him feel better despite everything. 

"Why do you bother? I don't deserve this," he found himself say, his fingers digging into the soft sand that held the plant upright, "I'm a monster. Nothing more than a beast." 

A pause, before he looked down once more and wiped his tears. 

"You have a _smell_?" 

If the succulent could shrug, it would. 

" _What, you haven't heard?_ " it chirped again, " _Now that you hear us, you'd soon find out~_ " 


	4. Tidying Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inwoo has let the plants into his heart! 
> 
> Suggested music to read with: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wuYGfCwmoE

He made some changes to the house after a few days, putting in requests for horticulture books he usually wouldn't pick up. Gone were the shelves of texts he loved that talked about evolution and food chains, replaced with general knowledge about plants and how to rear them. In the meanwhile, he had also gotten a haircut: gone was the scruffy mop he had grown out after his wild and reckless escape, replaced with a comfortable, boyish haircut less likely to get in his eyes while he curated his new selection. 

If he was going to be in this house for the rest of his life surrounded by talking plants, he reckoned he may as well make the best of it. The chimes in his dreams continued, however, as he accepted his fate in the grand scheme of things, growing more hopeful as now the comfortable rhythm of a piano joined in when he slept. It seemed to suggest that this had been the right step to take, mingled with his mother's voice. 

The plants had by then stopped berating him: most of the time they only reminded him to eat his meals regularly, hydrate himself and take his medications. Only the little succulent said more things along the way, asking him questions and chatting with him about the world outside. He appreciated the succulent's babbling while he tried to sleep. Maybe it wasn't so terrible after all to have someone on his side for once, even if it was a largely inanimate plant with fat water-soaked leaves. 

" _Ow!_ " complained the succulent when he snipped a chunk of it off for his own studies, and Inwoo planted the chunk in a separate pot while it continued to protest, " _How'd you feel if I took a pair of scissors and cut off your nose!_ " 

"Considering this would assume I have noses growing all over my body, I doubt I'd feel the loss. False equivalent," he pointed out, not missing the nuance of how he was trying to hold a logical debate against something that didn't have a brain, "You're _fine_. You don't even have pain receptors."

The succulent was quiet before it mumbled again, " _It still hurts. You never apologise for anything, except the things you don't have to._ " 

Inwoo looked towards the abandoned cigarette box on the table, before shaking his head, solemn. The first and only time he'd tried to smoke, he had been unable to get the screaming of the tobacco as they were ignited out of his head. The hobby of gardening was only a necessity to shut the plants up from their incessant "feed me" rants. It wasn't like he had started caring about them or anything. 

He was interrupted by the doorbell, and Inwoo peered outside from his balcony. " _A visitor!_ " cheered the succulent from its perch as Inwoo hobbled downstairs, " _I hope it's a friend~_ " 

Where he came from, he found a bouquet of flowers and a gift-wrapped package. Strange...he didn't think he'd be gifted anything. Wrinkling his nose, he tapped the bouquet gently. "Who sent you?" he asked, and the bouquet of geraniums stared back at him. 

" _We'll give you one guess to what we mean,_ " they chuckled back in unison, " _Open the card attached with us_." 

Inwoo dutifully followed, though his gaze remained skeptical. 

The next thing he remembered was convulsing on the floor as electricity and rage coursed through his veins, the bouquet tittering in laughter as the card sagged from his hand onto the ground. 

> Dear Inwoo, 
> 
> I figured I'd mail you the book I wrote about our shared experiences. Did you know? TvN, yeah, that TvN, they picked it up as a drama series! 16 episodes! It'll be great. I'm sure the person cast as me would be cute, funny and kill his role. Well, I _tried_ to suggest Yoon Shiyoon, but maybe he's not free. I hope not, though!
> 
> You should watch it! I heard they're casting a theatre actor as you. Maybe I could suggest they give you cable. 
> 
> \- Dongshik 
> 
> PS: I did some research on flowers and what they meant before sending this to you. They were saying you can talk to them now- or, well, think you can talk to them. You know geraniums mean stupidity, right? 


	5. Court Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bowl haircut man gets to go outside for the first time in a while! 
> 
> And starts using his abilities for evil, as he's prone to doing.

He'd been left alone in the police car with the window only partially rolled down. The policemen escorting him had made a convenience store run to get themselves something to warm up, and he had requested for some coffee if they would have been so kind to help. His eyes darted to the snow-covered tree he was parked next to, cogs running in his mind as he decided that he needed to ask some questions. 

"Do the police pull up here often," he asked the tree, already planning his getaway. If they had patrols, they would have a set amount of cars in the area at any given time. Once he figured out how frequent these were, he could chart an escape route and buy himself some time while he worked his anklet off. It wasn't like he didn't know that the collar wouldn't trigger if he started murdering again, anyway. 

The tree seemed to shudder in the breeze. " _Lad, you talking to me?_ " boomed the voice that responded, and Inwoo covered his ears in confused shock, " _Haven't heard anyone who can hear us before. You must be very gifted._ " Gifted? That hadn't been used to describe him since he was a child. He scooched closer to the ajar window, peering out again before he continued to talk. 

"If you could help me with this, it'll be much appreciated," he grit out, trying not to move his mouth too much and arouse suspicion- from the corner of his eye, he could already see the officers making payment. He was interrupted by a sheet of snow falling on the car hood as though the tree had been stretching, and he jolted, glancing out once more towards the tree furtively. 

" _Don't think so. They rarely stop by these parts_ ," the tree replied, " _It's a trek to civilisation either way. Maybe you should ask those in the park if they've seen loud cars like the one you're planted in._ " A trek to civilisation sounded perfect in his books. He could shake off any trails and reorient without being disturbed. Inwoo reached out with his handcuffed hands, carefully patting the bark in a stiff gesture of thanks before withdrawing his hands, watching the officers return with his coffee. 

With a sigh, Inwoo began to drink- only to recoil in disgust and horror hearing the wet gurgling noises of the ground-up coffee beans inside it. He propped it aside in the cup holder until the flushing noises finally ebbed- and by then, the drink had gone cold. The officers shook their heads, dismissing it as one of his eccentricities, but unknown to them, he was already having thoughts about fleeing. He just needed an opening-- 

As though by fate itself, a branch fell on the windshield, shattering the glass. Everyone flinched, but as the officers headed outside to check on the damages, Inwoo began to slip away, hobbling and using the snow as cover. The anklet he wore began to whine, muffled in the snow, but he pressed on, slowly putting space between himself and the two escorting him. Beneath him, he heard many a _oof oww ouch_ from the grass under his feet, and he muttered soft apologies as at last, he found somewhere he could hide. 

The creeping vines from the building he'd taken cover behind sagged from above him, as though curious of his disheveled state. 

" _Why hello there, stranger,_ " greeted the sultry voice, and Inwoo tested the vine with his chained hands: sturdy, surprisingly, " _Need a lift to the second floor? There's no occupants- nobody as interesting as you, at least._ " 

Inwoo glanced around. "I'll take it," he grunted out, unused to receiving help, "You'd better be some sort of fucking nursery. I have weapons." 

The vines coiled around his handcuffed arms, and Inwoo bit back a scream the moment he was hoisted in the air and towards the second storey window. 

" _I would choose my next words wisely, little speaker_ ," the cacophony of voices surrounding him continued as they released him into a comfortable patch of moss that surrounded the entire room he'd been tossed into, " _For a chained beast like you, you sure do pack a bite."_


	6. Badumtiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moss-covered room, an asshole who's starting to learn what he can do...and a root vegetable.
> 
> This is absolutely a filler chapter for a leek pun. You're welcome.

"Where--" Inwoo glanced around the overgrown room before touching the moss, feeling the force of the vegetation bend against his restraints. 

" _Home,_ " replied the vines, now creeping over the walls itself, " _I would visit the bathroom if I were you. They've sprung a leek in there._ " 

Inwoo got up, jogging to the toilet- and sure enough, a lone leek laid on the ground listlessly, grubby and abandoned. 

He rolled his eyes, washing the leek off in the sink and sliding it into one of the belt loops of his clothing. 

"Frankly, I wasn't sure what I expected," he mused, sitting on the moss and letting it creep over his foot, drowning out the sirens in the process, "Let me sleep." 

" _You can sleep when you are dead, speaker_ ," taunted the moss enveloping his feet, " _But for now, you may rest. Think carefully about where you want to go next._ " 

_Somewhere where the colesaw wouldn't scream at me_ , thought Inwoo to himself, but he laid down on his side, shutting his eyes.

Everything felt comfortable...too comfortable. It was like laying on a soft cushion. It didn't take long for him to slowly drift off into slumber, barely noticing the moss unfurling to encompass his entire body. 


	7. The Death Knell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inwoo is on the run again, for the second time this year.

He slowly shifted awake after what seemed like an eternity, feeling the leek on his side poking into his ribs again. In truth, he had only been asleep for fifteen minutes, and as he righted himself in a bid to get up, he decided to quiz the leek on some things. 

"Why were you even in the bathroom in the first place?" he sighed, holding it in front of him like he usually did with his sword, "And why were you covered in that white substance." 

The leek is quiet for a few moments before it replied. " _The answer may surprise you...?_ " its voice rose in a question, and Inwoo scowled, slotting it back to his belt loop.

He slipped his shoe off to retrieve the knife he'd hidden in there, noticing his anklet missing- the moss had grown into it and seemingly stolen the device, absorbing it in the process. That was helpful, he begrudgingly admitted, but looking around, it didn't seem like he had any options to escape. Needless to say his phone would've been tapped at this point, and they were probably dispatching people to try and break the door down. 

They'd need time to get there, though. More time for him, the better. Focusing on the moss, he grabbed a handful and tried to shape it. The moss shifted to his whims and formed a small ramp that extended across to the next building. 

"...thanks," he muttered, looking slightly taken aback by this display. The vines being able to support him was a fluke, but the moss reacting to him definitely wasn't normal. The moss mumbled something unintelligible due to being stretched out, and Inwoo stumbled over, carefully climbing across while using the cover of the snow and darkness to shield his features. 

He landed in a kitchen, and Inwoo's face morphed from his calm stoic expression to something bordering on glee. More knives joined his utility belt, and he picked up an onion on the side just to check in on the status of the police. It protested in his tight grasp. 

"I'll drop you down the window, and you can tell me if they're coming." Inwoo stated, and without letting the onion reply, he let go. 

" _I don't have eyes--_ " eked out the onion but it was released with a small scream. 

There is a noise akin to a splat, and he peered out to see the dismembered onion on the sidewalk. He pinched his brows as the moss receded back into the previous building before he glanced around again, noticing the light turn on in the house as a key turned in the doorknob. 

_Kill, kill, kill. Nobody must know he's there._

He flipped out one of the smaller knives deftly in his right hand, waiting as the woman appeared. She barely spared him a second glance as she entered her room immediately, not noticing the movement in the kitchen. When the door to her room swung shut, Inwoo stole out from the ajar front door, listening carefully for any other signs of activity.

The plants chirped around him, chiding him and telling him to put the knife away and act casual. He ignored them. 

The hunter was on the prowl now. 


	8. Silence the Dissent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing something reckless after gaining his freedom and escalating unnecessarily? 
> 
> Never!

He stumbled out to the streets, watching his breath come in small, white puffs from the cold wintry night. Glancing left and right in the quiet but open space, his eyes trailed to the park across him that he remembered the tree at the convenience store mention. There were pavilions there he could take shelter in for the night- his only worry was freezing to death before he got his hands on Yook Dongshik. 

Crossing the road and wading into the grass, he meandered warily towards the semi-darkness of the first pavilion he saw, sitting down in it and hugging himself before drooping slightly recognising how utterly and completely alone he was. It was far too quiet that even the trees and grass seemed asleep, and even when he had stepped on them there was only a few minor, sleepy protests but little else.

Suddenly, running away didn't seem worth it. What was the point in him looking for that man anyway? He'd obviously made a joke of his entire cat-and-mouse by profiting off it, and the last time they had met, he'd been locked in an escape room and arrested a second time after being humiliated. The pit in Inwoo's stomach reminded him he knew nothing else and had nothing left, though. He had no purpose beyond exacting his revenge once and for all, and this worried him when he recognised he had no other plans when he had been done. He didn't like that train of thought. 

Inwoo extended his maimed leg, trying to conserve his body heat and not think of his hunger while formulating another plan. He felt something touch his hand and flinched visibly, noticing a slightly damp apple next to him. 

"Are you sure?" he asked the fruit, cupping it in his hands and looking every bit the sorry fugitive he was. He frowned even thinking about how much pain the apple would feel, considering how much screaming had occurred every time he'd tried to eat anything plant-based.

The months spent in isolation had dulled his edge, and he wasn't the lean, crafty hunter he was anymore. Now, he was just a crippled man with a shock collar that could talk to plants. He'd grown soft and sentimental in his time alone. It was a strange role reversal, he chuckled in an unhinged realisation to himself. His only allies were plants. 

The apple remained silent, and Inwoo took it to be consent. He crunched, hard down upon it, before ravenously tearing into the apple, finishing it quickly before examining the core again. 

"Sacrificing yourself for little old me?" he scoffed, stealing out from the pavilion to the park again, "I'll ensure it's worth it." 

Digging into the damp, snow-covered soil with his hands, ignoring the stinging and discomfort he felt, he carefully and meticulously buried the core before standing up, feeling refreshed. The voices seemed renewed around him, his offering being taken kindly to those who dwelled within the park itself. 

He looked towards the grass, voice surprisingly quiet and reverent. "I need a taxi home," he mumbled, "The succulent at my bedside table must be worried for me." 

The grass rippled, before he watched in awe as the snow on some of them began to melt, forming an arrow to lead him towards the nearest bus stop for his troubles. 

For the first time in a while, Inwoo managed a grateful smile as he gently scuffed his shoe against the grass. "We'll meet again," he promised quietly, before stumbling out towards it- even then, the trees seemed to shroud his frame and the grass muffled his footsteps, allowing him full cover to advance and return home. 


	9. Memories Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this got sad really fast.

_"Do you like it?" came the female voice as he was offered a purple flower, "You can keep it in your scrapbook. That way it'll be preserved forever."_

_The boy's voice has a chillingly apathetic tone to it. "So it's still beautiful even after it dies?"_

_"It is, because you have the memory of it. It endures, and that's why it remains as beautiful as ever."_

* * *

The taxi ride was quiet, Inwoo catching the voices of plants here and there as they passed through the tunnels. The driver's radio was off, which he was most thankful for- at this point, he knew that the police must've put out notices about his escape by now. The leek on his side stabbed into his ribs as though protesting its treatment, and Inwoo unconsciously ran a hand over the leaves of the ragged root vegetable in a poor attempt to anchor himself while the trip stretched on. 

" _Stringing me along like I'm some sort of object, surrounded by weapons_ ," it grumbled, tone annoyed, " _I'll jab you again. Who the fuck runs away without a plan?"_

Inwoo's fingers stilled over the plant briefly and felt it go eerily silent, but he resisted snapping it into clean halves. He could be cruel, but spilling the leek's fluids all over the taxi's seat seemed impolite. It didn't take long before the taxi pulled up at the familiar neighborhood, and with a quiet thanks to the driver (as well as a rather hefty sum of change), he slowly made the trek up towards his house. Quiet mutters rose from around him, both from the plants and humans who knew his brazen streak, but he pushed them aside mentally while he limped, calmly and with purpose. 

There were no guards outside his house, probably deployed to wherever Yook Dongshik was predicting he'd go there. He sat on the steps leading to his door, shielding the rays of the sun that had slowly began to rise with one hand while having his other on the leek.

" _Plant meeeeee_ ," it whined, and he obliged, carefully relocating it from his belt loop to the grassy patch outside. After working with the soil at home, he seemed to mind this much less. 

It seemed to wave its thanks when he released his muddy hands from it, staring up towards the sky and feeling the warmth of the sun for the first time in a long while. He hadn't appreciated the sun as much in a while. The plants loved the sun and sang praises about it on a regular basis, mingled with complaining about needing to be outside just because the sun was outside, too.

This warmed his bones, and he soon keyed in the number combination to let himself inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. The plants chorused their "welcome back" spiel, asking how the calibration went and if he'd taken his medication that day.

He glanced towards the pill bottle, tucked away in the recesses of his coat before reluctantly taking them near the sink, washing it down with tap water. It muddled his mind and made him drowsy, and he knew they were but over-the-counter sedatives- his psychopathy wasn't something they could control with medication, a fact they had known the moment they'd done a cross-examination on him. They insisted it kept him tame. Perhaps it was true, having him willingly ingest poison on a regular basis. Inwoo knew it was a matter of time before he'd build up immunity to it. 

Striding over to pick his succulent up, it seemed to perk at being carried towards the coffee table where he'd laid out another book. " _You're not as rough with me as you would usually. That's good! I'm happy you're in a better mood_ ," it cooed happily, and Inwoo kept silent while flipping another page, " _I'm sure things went well. Did something happen outside? There were a lot of scared voices saying you were outside now."_

"Nothing you'd need to worry about." His tone was clipped, emotionless and apathetic, "Tongues will always wag when I'm outside. Just focus on being fat and photosynthesizing. It's the only thing you do anyway." 

" _Wow! Here come mister sassypants,"_ the succulent huffed, indignant, " _Better me than anyone else, though. Didn't the cactus jab you in the eye for sassing it once?"_

Inwoo rolled his eyes and corrected, his logical mind winning out. "I stumbled into it. It can't move. Why would it jab me, anyway? We depend on each other."

He leafed through the rest of the contents, contemplative before he found the page he was looking for: the pressing of a faded, purple flower, along with a small handwritten note off to the side. 

> "My Inwoo's first flower pressing. Only one of many to come." 

Inwoo's mind hushed, tracing the handwriting over and over again with his finger. He didn't think he'd ever find it again, but here he was, holding onto it. His hand twitched, hesitant as he touched the flower, willing it to himself that it would reply. 

"Do you...speak?" he asked, tone earnest to one of the final shreds of memory he had of his mother. It was a needle in the haystack, and he knew for certain it was just a corpse. What could it tell him? 

As the silence stretched on, first from the bated breaths of the plants until they faded into muttering reassuring words, he released his grip on it before sweeping it off the table into the carpet, angered at himself for even daring to harbor such hopes. 

He barely noticed the officers bursting through the door of his apartment, and the almost comforting jolt of electricity that sobered him up instantly to his current reality. The succulent before him was toppled to the side by the officers' bid to find hidden weapons, as with the rest of the plants being dug up and ransacked as accordingly. Their confused screams felt like blades to Inwoo's mind, and he felt himself forced to the ground once more as handcuffs clanged over his wrists. 

"No..." he managed a final, heartbreaking moan seeing his work being tarnished the way they had, before at last the tendrils of unconsciousness finally claimed him. 


	10. Don't Ever Forget...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences, as our local plant whisperer starts to recognise. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7q4xQYFzAE

A soft piano accompanied by a violin roused Inwoo from his induced slumber. As the notes flowed through his mind, the recesses of his mind seemed to sharpen with the added flute that joined in, hopeful and relieved when he finally opened his eyes. 

The first thing that caught his eye was his left wrist, chained once again to the side of the bed. Atop it sat his succulent on a table, looking as miserable as an inanimate plant could muster in a plastic pot far too small for it. He had gotten the succulent in a "cute" ceremic planter shaped like a turtle, and from the way the succulent had been haphazardly shoved into the ill-fitting pot, they had probably smashed it. 

" _Wah!_ " cried out the succulent, as though reacting to his sudden wakefulness, " _They destroyed everything and now I'm squashed in this...thing! It's so uncomfortable! And everyone is feeling bad too because they've been thrown away!"_

"They what--" Inwoo sat bolt upright, a sharp pain running up his left arm jostling the handcuff intermingled with the migraine he often woke up with after being shocked, "Why would they?" 

The succulent seemed to have shrivelled visibly in only a matter of hours. " _They thought you'd snapped and killed people again...and hid the weapons in us...that's what I knew until they put me away here...I've been waiting for you to wake up since then."_

Inwoo lowered his head, quiet at the thought of sabotaging the closest to a family he'd gotten, and the succulent seemed to grow healthier and back to its usual fat self when the silence filled the room once again. 

"Cheonche-ah," Inwoo's voice remained quiet, remorseful in tone as he greeted the succulent with him, "I slipped. It's all my fault." 

The bruises on his face began to sting, as with the burning sensation of where the collar touched his neck. He felt utterly miserable about the matter- was this how guilt should have felt like? He had felt nothing more than the thrill of a successful hunt when he had targetted his victims. Yet, this incident where all his plants had been uprooted sans one had put him in such a terrible mindscape. 

" _You're not well. Nobody prunes your leaves, pulls your weeds or water you like you do with us_ ," replied the plant as Inwoo reached for it, cupping it gently while he placed the pot on his lap, " _We'll be fine! We can grow anywhere. You're not a plant, so you can't grow anywhere you please. You live in a pot just like the rest of us."_

"I'm a terrible owner," he muttered to the plant despite its comforting words, beginning to choke up thinking of all the damage he'd caused to these plants who had unconditionally looked out for him, "I can't even keep you lot safe. All I did was obsess over a man that doesn't even deserve any more space in my mind, and you...you all..." 

He pulled the pot closer to himself, feeling tears slip from his usual stoic self hearing the plant _still_ try to comfort him despite its near death experience. "I'm sorry. I'm terrible. I'm bad at this," he whimpered, self-loathe spilling forth when the dam finally broke down, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know nothing I say or do will make up for it. I'm so sorry, Cheonche-ah..."

* * *

The doctors milled outside the ward, watching this display with detached curiosity. 

"Has the patient ever showed such emotion before?" asked one of them, turning to the more senior doctor who merely gave a shake of his head, "Should we sedate him?" 

The senior doctor raised a hand, looking towards the man in the room still rocking himself back and forth with the succulent in his hands. "No. In fact, we should keep him here, in this ward. It seems that gardening has somehow triggered some sensitivities in him that were blocked before due to his antisocial nature. It's a good thing. Maybe we were approaching this all wrong the whole time." 

He turned on his heel, gesturing to the small group of doctors. "Bring him some gardening supplies, and maybe a better planter for the succulent. If he's _crying_ over his one plant being shoved in a children's toy when he barely shows any remorse murdering others? I'd rather not be hunted for sport about ill-treating his new pets." 


	11. A Wish for Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this finally the end?

Dongshik didn't really think he'd be visiting someone who'd tried to murder him several times and framed him for his murders any time soon. It was weird that way, but he was too curious to pass it up. He remembered chatting with Bokyung about the matter, that he didn't think Inwoo would find it in himself to be remorseful about the matter, about killing people. 

What he'd heard and was the most unprecedented, though, was how he had been _calm_ for some time now, being moved to the psych ward of the hospital after his escape. Dongshik had expected another visit and potentially a fight that day, but having waited at the escape room he worked part-time at for the entire night, he suddenly realised that Inwoo wasn't coming. It was strange, really, not having this man obsess over him at every turn. Dongshik knew he was being way too optimistic about the matter, but...he'd seen how Inwoo reacted to his advances, and how possessive he'd been when he realised they were "probably alike, in some ways or another". Being alone the way he'd been, even now, didn't seem to be the way to help him. 

He was led to the rooftop garden, where he watched the lanky figure in overalls work on some cabbages in the background. He muttered to them as he harvested them individually, smiling and patting the heads while putting them away in a crate to be cleaned and used for the cafeteria. Dongshik wondered to himself how he'd never seen Inwoo look so fulfilled- the only time he had seemed to be the times he'd managed to murder the "prey" he'd been tracking. Next to him, on the lounge chairs laid out for them to rest, Dongshik's gaze fell on the strange succulent that sat by itself in a cute turtle-shaped planter. 

With his curiosity winning out, he reached over to it and watched Inwoo stiffen as though hearing something before turning to him. Dongshik tamped down his fear seeing the man rear to his full height and tower over him, but there was no malice in his gaze (which frankly surprised him the most). He dropped the final cabbage into the crate and limped over, eying him warily before taking his gloves off and pulling the succulent away from Dongshik's gaze almost possessively. Dongshik's gaze darted to the collar he wore, looking awkward about the matter: they really shouldn't have done that, it was a line even he wouldn't cross.

"I'm happy for you," Dongshik began in a bid to change the subject, his smile growing into something more radiant, "It's almost like in the stories, where you just needed a one true place to be." He took out an item from his coat pocket, flipping it around idly in his hands.

Inwoo raised a brow, putting the succulent on his lap while he turned away to look at the crops he'd been working on. "I have a lot of weapons here, Yook Dongshik," he replied, though his tone was light and conversational, "You can pick your methods. I could also push you off the side of the garden and frame it as a suicide. I'm sure the cabbages will enjoy spectating, it's what I do best." 

Dongshik found it in himself to laugh about the matter- he knew that Inwoo wouldn't do it, surrounded by cameras as he were. He offered the man the item in his hand- a planner with a green cover that was held together with a leaf-shaped pin.

"We're not friends, but I still wanted to congratulate you for feeling fulfilled about things," Dongshik continued, still smiling and fidgeting a little, "Maybe you're not as terrible as you think you were, after all. ...Bokyung says she won't forgive you, by the way, about the whole thing with her dad. She'd visit, but I think she won't be talking to you than trying to kick your ankles and grapple you." 

Inwoo chuckled, accepting the item with a muddy hand and idly flipping through the pages. "She'd kill me. I'd thank her for it," he added, tone clipped, "But she won't. She's not a beast like I am." 

Dongshik stretched and felt the warmth of the sun's rays tickle his face. He adjusted his glasses and turned to Inwoo again. 

"So, you kept saying you can talk to plants. How'd that start? And is that why you're so happy now?" he asked, flipping out his notebook and looking eagerly curious.

Inwoo cocked an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed. "If you're done profiting off my misery, you shouldn't pry," he shut the writer down, a barely-concealed snarl on his features, "Let's just say it was a gift from my mother." 

The succulent _wiggled,_ to Dongshik's surprise, when he linked hands with Inwoo to exchange the gift. He withdrew his grip, and Dongshik belatedly noticed the tendrils of green energy escape from Inwoo's fingers. 

"Hi! I'm Cheonche!" it spoke, and Dongshik bristled at the clarity of the statement. Inwoo's grin widened as Dongshik scrambled to tuck himself closer to the lounge chair, before he began to laugh, almost unhinged at the plant's greeting to the startled man. 

"Did the plant just _talk_?" Dongshik managed a squeak, and Inwoo's refreshing laughter petered out through the morning sun of the garden. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the end of this fic here unless I think of something to add onto, really. 
> 
> It's been a really wild couple of days just writing this stream of consciousness story about someone whom while was a sociopathic killer that murdered people for sport, getting inside Inwoo's head to connect how it all happened allowed the closure we all needed. 
> 
> I'm not the type to write romances, I rarely do because I simply don't see fulfillment hinged on romance. Sometimes, mutual comfort is what can change a person entirely for the better. 
> 
> It's an imperfect ending: he's still trapped somewhere where he can't hurt anyone anymore, but there's an underlying message of hope and mutual comfort I wanted to convey. He's not fully redeemed, but hey, I feel this is the best one can muster that doesn't lead to erasing what Inwoo as a character really is.


	12. Epilogue: In the Hands of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where I need to change the rating of this piece. 
> 
> In which Inwoo demonstrates his capacity to deal with the people he hates, _and_ the full destructive potential of his abilities.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3R-wUq-_AE&t

The house was as spacious and quiet as Inwoo remembered it, holding Cheonche under one arm when he punched the number combination into the door to enter. It was Father's birthday, the narcissist he was, and he tucked the succulent gently towards him as he stumbled inside the house, looking around warily. Cheonche protested as it was squished against Inwoo's body, grumbling while he flicked out the gardening fork he'd filched from his usual gardening spiel. 

" _You lied about visiting your dad,"_ Cheonche pointed out as he shuffled the fork back inside his red coat, " _Why?_ _You don't even like your dad. Why the sudden visit?"_

Inwoo poised himself in front of the piano, playing a gentle tune that seemed almost haunting in the near-silence of the rooms around them. "You talk too much, Cheonche-ah," he mutters fondly to his pet, "Sometimes it's better to say nothing at all." The tendrils seemed to extend from his fingertips when he continued to play, and Cheonche began to grow larger- its fat leaves sharpened and became bladed, until it pulled itself from the planter and hopped out, now up to Inwoo's knee in height supported by its roots. The plants around him seemed to move to the music as well, pulling themselves free from their pots and their branches sharpening into weapons as well, waiting quietly for his command. 

The door rippled with the jingle of someone activating the door lock, and the vines around the house began creeping up the walls while he played relaxedly, thorns forming on their stems as some began to writhe across the floor along with hanging off the ceiling. Cheonche waddled onto his shoulder, hanging off the side with its roots while he hummed gently to the tune. 

Inwoo turned to the older man, who dropped his briefcase seeing him in the room with him but his playing never quite ceasing. "Uhn-uhn," he whispered, the vines lashing out to restrain him and knocking the phone out of his reach before the man could dial for help, "Won't be reckless if I were you on that." The old man struggled, and he raised a hand for the plants around him to begin advancing. 

"When Mother died, you struck me when I tried to take anything that would remind me of her as a keepsake," he reminded his father gently, tone dropping to something icily cold as the vines tightened around the struggling figure, "You threw out all the plants in _my_ house and instead taught me how to hunt. It was fate that I'd _still_ gain her abilities. I was mother's child, after all. You made sure to remind me of that." 

The plants shuffled over to the other man, bladed branches at the ready as Inwoo stood resolutely, hands behind his back as he stared down his father: tormentor and bully alike, he finally had the upper hand.

Cheonche whimpered from its perch on his shoulder. " _Do we have to?"_ it protested, and Inwoo waved a hand to the plants around him that were already on the ready.

"That won't be my decision to make," he replied to his succulent, the other man's eyes widening seeing his complete mastery of the animated houseplants around him.

"Remember what he did to the old mistress. Remember what he did to _me_ ," he growled out, his eyes flaring green as the plants charged ahead to the squirming man, gagged from the sheer amount of vines used to keep him still, "You have memories longer than I will. As for what you all do with him...I leave it to the hands of fate, gifting you the sentience you require to exact revenge." The collar sparked, as it would, but he felt a sudden eerie calm fall over him. It felt good, being the bigger man for once. 

He slowly stumbled to the porch, looking down at the grass and trees that dotted the landscape and finally letting a long, shaky breath of relief. Mother loved plants. She always found them beautiful. As the link finally severed, Inwoo turned around, face filled with malicious glee taking in the dismembered corpse of his father. The plants returned to their original positions, except for Cheonche, who merely gave a small, scared whimper about what had just taken place. 

"Mother loved plants." He mused aloud, watching the plants absorb the corpse into themselves and ruining any traces of the grisly murder that'd just taken place, "I can see why now. They are truly wonderful."

His hand reached towards Cheonche, running a finger gently on its top. 

_"This is the thing you wanted to settle, right? This murder?"_ managed the succulent quietly, _"I didn't like him either. I disagree, but if everyone hated him so much...He was an awful man."_ He slipped the plant back inside its planter, and it settled in comfortably, looking normal again. 

He sat in front of the piano again, beginning to play gently after dusting the soil from his coat. "Let's go home, Cheonche-ah. To the hospital. We won't ever be disturbed again," he replied, letting the tune take over him until the end of his visit. 


	13. Epilogue 2: Beautiful Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next victim is only subject to some minor mischief, thankfully. 
> 
> i.e. Jihoon tries to make up with his older brother.

The living stones first started turning up in front of Jihoon's house. 

Eventually, they started moving inside the house itself. There were pots of living stones everywhere. Every time he gave one away, five more would appear in its place. They dotted the entire place, seeming to take up most of the house by virtue of existing- and Jihoon _hated_ every moment of it. He had better things to worry about than being bombarded by living stones: his father had been missing for months now, and in the meantime, he had been installed as temporary CEO of the place. 

He could hear Inwoo laughing already, stating that the position should've been his. They were always pushing and pulling with each other, competitive under their father's watchful eye, but with him out of the picture. Jihoon in fact missed the banter that took place when they were outside that sphere. They seemed to be brothers, in one way or another, and Inwoo...well, it had been his fault taunting Inwoo into trying to kill him. He knew he should've never turned his brother's prized pistol against him that day. 

Jihoon packed one of the living stones up inside a paper bag, bunching it up on the top before setting off. Inwoo had developed an obsession with plants the past couple of months, and what way to apologise than to give him something to start talking about? It was difficult for him too, grappling with his brother that seemed so close, yet so far away. Perhaps he'd never known Inwoo at all, grovelling so hard under his father. It just never occurred to him that Inwoo was never the "favoured child" until he hid his illness and stopped resisting.

Even that thought sent shivers down Jihoon's spine. Now that Father was gone, all the abuse and suffering suddenly seemed so much clearer than when he had been mired in it. As he got out of his car, holding the living stones in his hands, he couldn't help but notice how sterile and lonely the place seemed in comparison to home. He could head out to the bar and grab a drink if the loneliness gnawed at him. Inwoo no longer had that choice. Suddenly, the obsession with plants made sense to Jihoon. It seemed like a substitute for the attention he'd never received from Father. 

As he gave the ajar door a slight knock, he heard a bit of a shuffle before Inwoo appeared, towering over him and with a succulent tucked under his arm. His face was stoic, as he usually remembered, but noticing who he was, he tilted his head confusedly and invited Jihoon inside.

The room, Jihoon found was spacious and comfortable, crates of gardening supplies everywhere as plants flourished and grew almost _too_ healthily in pots around Inwoo's bed and the room. The succulent had a spot on his bedside table, and as Inwoo invited him to take a seat, Jihoon's grip on his gift tightened slightly. What if it was just a convincing ruse and Inwoo had something in his sleeve to stab him with? From how Inwoo had sat with the succulent on his lap, though, it seemed unlikely. 

"I, uh, brought you something," he began falteringly, pulling the living stones out of the bag, "These keep appearing at my place. I thought you might want to have one." 

Inwoo accepted the pot and then...he _laughed_. Jihoon had never seen him laugh this happily since he'd found out about Inwoo's secret, and watched Inwoo lift the pot closer to himself before stating, all while looking Jihoon in the eye, "Welcome back, my friend." 

Jihoon stiffened considerably, before narrowing his eyes. They said that Inwoo had awakened something within him that made him more attuned to plants. Was it just one of his delusions, or did he actually spawn all those plants at his house? 

"I wanted to talk about Father," he continued, trying to change the subject but noticing Inwoo's gaze grow immediately frigid at the mention. Inwoo muttered something to the living stones before putting it aside, gently playing with the leaves of the succulent on his lap, "Where did you think he'd be?" 

His tone remained cold and disinterested. "File a police report. Don't ask me how to live your life," he replied, entirely unsympathetic, "He's been missing a while, hasn't he? Maybe he finally found a hole to crawl in and die."

Jihoon swore that the breeze in the room seemed to make the plants in the room quiver and cackle at the statement, and he straightened again, wary at the display before trying again. "If he visits, drop me a line, ok?" he pressed on, feebly trying to continue the conversation before watching Inwoo's gaze wander away to the door in utter apathy of the matter. 

From the ajar door, Jihoon watched in increasing alarm and horror as the living stones he recognised were from his place began streaming in, pot after pot, and they seemed to be skittering with their roots. They sat next to each other in a neat row, and Jihoon fought the urge to faint at the display before him. This whole thing was just Inwoo messing with him? He should've know.

Inwoo waved a hand, looking back to his younger brother before returning the living stones to him. "It'll fare better at home with you. It says it likes you," he instructed, "They don't need much care. Just spritz it twice a week, and it'll last. Take it as a reminder of me, whether you want to remember a monster like your stepbrother or not. You being here...is enough." He forced a second smile as Jihoon looked down upon it, trying his utmost to hide the quiver of his lower lip being spoken to so gently even after everything. 

" _Hyung_ ," he managed, swallowing the lump in his throat before he put the living stones aside, "C-Can I h-hug you?" It had been years since they'd expressed any form of affection to each other. Suddenly, Jihoon craved it so deeply. 

Inwoo opened his arms, and Jihoon dived into the embrace, sobbing his apologies and promising he'd bring him home as soon as possible. He could hear the breeze again, carrying muttered praise and quiet reassurances before he felt Inwoo stiffly return the gesture, unused to the affection.

The succulent seemed to have moved closer to the living stones when the bed had been jostled. They almost seemed to be holding hands, if plants had anything like that. 


	14. END: The Greatest Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The greatest gift is to be loved, and love in return.

There was a light rain that blanketed the place when Inwoo travelled to his mother's tomb, rows of corn fields lining the dirt road they were commuting through. While the officers complained about the low visibility, Inwoo was content to stare outside with Cheonche on his lap. Jihoon sat across him, a space left between them as they usually did, but seeing his older brother so deep in thought, decided not to strike up any conversation and instead fidgeted with the bouquet he'd bought for the occasion. 

The rain was relentless against the windshield, and Inwoo listened quietly to the voices of the plants enjoying the nourishment from outside, muffled from the glass window separating them both. It'd been a while since he'd been outside and seen rain pour down in such a manner, but they had taken in regard his streak of surprisingly stellar behavior (after his escape blemishing his record and all) and approved his leave to visit his mother. It was his first time visiting her since _he_ 'd died. Inwoo wanted her to know how far he'd come despite all the twists and turns. 

* * *

As they finally pulled up to a stop, Inwoo stumbled off, shielding Cheonche with his arm as Jihoon opened an umbrella for him. The brothers walked towards the cemetery, Inwoo having memorised the number where she was by heart, and Cheonche seemed to reach out towards the rain hungrily for some nourishment. The mud splashed against their pants, and Jihoon bit back a grumble about it being his "nice pants", but seeing Inwoo so eerily silent, fell into a terrified one as well. 

It didn't take long until the small unit came to view- pitifully small and overrun with weeds, the embossed plate had been faded from wear and tear, barely upkept. The two officers turned away at Jihoon's request, heading off to give the brothers some space, and when Jihoon reached out to start weeding, Inwoo raised a hand towards the vegetation burying the lot. 

"Please leave. This is where my mother resides," he spoke, quietly domineering, and Jihoon flinched seeing the weeds all recede a comfortable distance. He never got used to his brother's abilities, though he begrudgingly admitted it was useful. Inwoo reached out, wiping the rain-slicked photograph with his thumb before offering the photograph of his mother a sad smile. 

" _Ahjumma_ , I...brought you some flowers," Jihoon cut in through the awkward silence, hastily offering the carnations on the plot itself, "I also brought some small snacks, but it's raining, so we can't put it out...sorry about that..." He trailed off, feeling increasingly self-conscious in Inwoo's silence when he watched his brother tenderly and almost obsessively wipe the rain from his mother's photograph with his sleeve. 

Eventually, he grabbed Inwoo's arm realising how repetitive his motions were becoming. " _Hyung_ , it's raining. There's no point," he pointed out quietly, and Inwoo withdrew his rain-slicked sleeve slowly, as though wary of never seeing the photograph again. By then, his hair and body were drenched in the rapidly-intensifying rain, and even then he still clutched Cheonche close to him. 

" _Umma_ ," Inwoo croaked quietly at last, "I snapped. I became a monster. Did you...did you pity me, to give me these abilities? To be able to still form friendships with things you knew I couldn't hurt?" He placed Cheonche down as an offering, and the succulent seemed to reach for him even in the heavy rain. "You...you were right. Plants are beautiful. They're different." 

Jihoon blinked back tears, wiping his face as much as he could holding the umbrella. He'd never heard his brother so earnest, having only traded jealous barbs and sidestepping for decades, and it hurt him that he had a mother he never did cherish with his brother's words. 

" _Don't leave me here!_ " whined Cheonche, though it was muffled by the rain that struck its tiny frame, " _I can't go home by myself...I'll miss you...I'm sure the old mistress wouldn't want you to leave me here...we're friends! We're...good friends..."_ The succulent seemed to sense some sort of finality on the matter, and its protests soon faded into a resolute silence. 

Inwoo waved a hand, and pink camellias formed around the plot of land, replacing the weeds and enduring despite the heavy rain. Amidst them, familiar purple flowers formed amidst the camellias, an impossible feat by itself- hyacinths.

 _Everlasting love, and regret._ He had deciphered the pressing his mother had left behind.

Regret that she hadn't been able to be with him every step of the way. Regret for how he'd turned out. Regret for letting him stay with a husband she knew was abusive. It mired Inwoo's mind as he ran his hand over the strap of the shock collar he wore, standing up once again to meet Jihoon's gaze. "I'd like to stay with my mother for a while," he stated quietly to his brother, "You can head back to the car first. The cops are watching us, anyway." Jihoon lifted his umbrella, nodding his assent before making his way back, sniffling the whole way. 

Inwoo curled over the plot with Cheonche in his grasp, shutting his eyes and feeling himself go rapidly numb in the rain. 

"Please...let me hear your voice one last time," he muttered his final request, almost childlike in the tone he'd taken, and the chimes he heard only in his dreams seemed to grow louder and louder as at last, he could see the hyacinths form the shape of a most familiar figure to him, reaching out tenderly to cup his face...

* * *

The officers were confused when Jihoon returned alone, but when they turned and the rain finally stopped, all they saw was an exhausted and shivering Inwoo, curled to his side with his succulent still protectively shielded in his tight grasp. His body had been overran by purple hyacinths, and while he was still breathing, they all admitted that this was the first and only time they'd seen him so relaxed. 

Jihoon held one of the officers back as he stepped forth to wake the man up at the end of the visit. "He'd get up on his own," the man stated, tone resolute as his thousand yard stare revealed he wanted to hear no dissent on the matter, "He's...talking to his mum now. They have a lot to catch up about." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK THIS IS REALLY THE END 
> 
> I had 3 epilogues to describe each of the members closest to Inwoo, and the final one (which I felt was the most fitting) was the mother he obviously cared for so much. 
> 
> There'll always be sadness about life being incomplete, but I wanted to ensure whatever we mentioned before came full circle.


End file.
